Exiting Boz's shop with my digital wallet considerably lighter but my body refreshed and fully functional, my thoughts circled back to the mystery of my Receptacle. While I had been unconscious in Noah's apartment, his body had mysteriously vanished. Had someone, against all odds, stolen the Soul? And what about the non-existent call from MainFrame? None of it made sense.

  I navigated the morning streets of Red Fusion, planning to grab a quick bite and take the day off to process these bizarre developments. Without a functional Receptacle, I couldn't work anyway, and attempting to explain the situation to MainFrame would only invite trouble.

  Suddenly, a searing pain pulsed through my head—sharper and more intense than the familiar post-transfer headaches. Instinctively, I popped a Beta-Blocker, but instead of subsiding, the pain intensified until I nearly lost my balance. I leaned against a nearby wall as my vision began to flicker and glitch like a malfunctioning display. Looking around, I realized I was still close to my apartment and decided to retreat to its relative safety.

  Ten minutes later, I was fumbling with my door lock. As I glanced at the door number, something bizarre happened—flashes of light superimposed themselves on my field of vision. The apartment number, 1885, transformed before my eyes. The digit 5 began to glow and pulsate rapidly, demanding my attention amid the throbbing headache.

  "5?" I muttered aloud, confused.

  In response, an explosion of pressure erupted from within my skull, like a violent slap from inside my own brain. I collapsed onto the floor, my vision enveloped in darkness except for the persistent glow of the number 5, multiplied and out of focus, floating in the void of my consciousness.

  Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the pain ceased. I lay on the worn carpet of my apartment, my vision gradually returning to normal.

  "5..." I murmured again, and with each utterance, the number glowed in waves as if responding to my voice.

  I blinked, noticing how the pulsing light synchronized perfectly with my speech. The timing was too precise to be coincidental. The pain had stopped exactly when I'd acknowledged what I was seeing. This wasn't a malfunction or hallucination—it was responsive, interactive.

  Something was trying to communicate with me.

  With effort, I pulled myself up and scanned my apartment for anything with text on it. My gaze settled on a delivery menu from Tawi restaurant lying on the kitchen counter. I grabbed it, my hands trembling slightly. If something was attempting to use my neural interface as a communication channel, perhaps it could highlight specific information on other surfaces as well.

  On the menu, multiple letters and numbers began to glow in sequence. Some green, some red:

  57 (green) 9 (green) A (red) V-A-N (green) N-E-O-D (green) C (red) C-A-F-E (green)

  I stared at the glowing letters and numbers, trying to make sense of the pattern. Green... red... green again. It took me a moment to realize that the green highlights were selecting specific characters while the red ones indicated spaces or gaps.

  57...9...then a space...then V-A-N...

  I mentally arranged the characters, watching as they formed a coherent sequence. A street number and name began to take shape. As the final letters appeared, the fragments assembled into a complete address—one I recognized from my frequent travels through the city's central districts. It wasn't far from MainFrame headquarters.

  5799 Avant Street, NeoDuck Cafe.

  As the realization struck, darkness claimed me once more.

  Nervously awaiting Lisa at the bustling cafe on Avant Street, I pondered whether she would believe me or lend a helping hand.

  Neoduck buzzed with activity, a beacon of the area, its decor an echo of a more glorious era. A painting adorned the back wall—an idyllic landscape with a colossal yellow rubber duck riding crystalline waves, a whimsical contrast to the grimy reality outside.

  "Refill?" a voice chimed.

  Startled, I looked up. The waitress, carafe in hand, met my gaze. I nodded, and she replenished my drink.

  Cradling the warm cup, panic suddenly surged through me, and my hand darted into my jacket pocket. There it was, the memory stick, waiting. "It's safe," I assured myself.

  Ding!

  The door swung open, and I instantly recognized her—Lisa. I waved, and she approached, taking the seat opposite me. Beautiful with her blonde hair accented by a section that flashed electric blue, her eyes mirrored her mother's—large, green, a perfect replica. I was glad she hadn't opted for cybernetic eyes, yet a discreet connection trailed along her neck, blending into her scalp—some kind of neural implant.

  A cybernetic chrome hand, the signature enhancement of young programmers, and a simple t-shirt adorned with abstract pop designs completed her look.

  "So, what do you want?" she asked bluntly, yanking me from my reverie.

  I looked down, guilt washing over me. "I wanted..." I began, mumbling. "I wanted to talk with you. It's been a long time—"

  "A long time?" she interrupted. "I never even met you."

  Her words sliced through me like a blade, each syllable carving deeper into the hollow space where my conscience should have been. She was right, of course. I had walked away from my responsibilities, from the family I should have cherished. I had left before she was born, choosing career and ambition over fatherhood.

  Despite observing her life from a distance over the years—watching her first steps through surveillance feeds, noting her academic achievements through hacked school records—we had never truly spoken or met. I'd been a ghost, present only in my own mind, absent from every moment that mattered. I had abandoned her and her mother, and no rationalization could ever make that right. The weight of eighteen years of absence crushed down on me in that moment, stealing my breath.

  "I know, I know," I replied. "I wasn't there. I left. And this will haunt me as long as my heart beats. But I wanted to talk. I wanted to reach out before. Just—"

  "You were too busy, yeah, I know," she said. "Listen, not that this family reunion isn't fanta-fucking-stic, but you left before I was born. I never heard from you, and then, out of nowhere, you reach out. How can I even know you're really my dad?"

  "I am," I affirmed. "I'm your father. I sent you photos of your mum and me when she was pregnant—"

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  "Dude, photos can be faked. Aren't you a super mega smart engineer working for MainFrame?" she interjected, making an exaggerated vomiting gesture with her finger at the mention of the corporation. "Even if I couldn't find any trace of AI modification, it doesn't mean these are legit. Before we continue with this farce, I want proof."

  As she finished speaking, she lunged across the table with unexpected speed. Before I could react, she had seized my arm with her cybernetic hand, the chrome fingers locking around my wrist with mechanical precision. With her other hand, she produced a thin metallic needle from her pocket.

  "What are you—" I began.

  She jabbed the needle into my forearm where a patch of natural skin was still visible between my implants, her movements practiced and efficient. I felt the sharp sting as it penetrated deep enough to draw blood.

  "Ouch!" I exclaimed.

  "Relax, I just want to test," she replied, pulling out a device from her pocket—a DNA manipulator used by NeuroSlicers.

  Inserting the bloody needle, she rapidly tapped on the device buttons. Her eyes widened as she looked up.

  "Fucking fuck fuck..." she muttered, staring into my eyes. "You are my dad."

  Unable to speak, I nodded.

  "Why?" she pressed, cocking her head to one side, eyes narrowing with suspicion. "Why now? Why after so long?"

  I looked down, clumsily gripping my cup. Taking a sip, I replied, "I need your help."

  "You need MY help? What does that mean? Why the fuck did you leave us?"

  "I was a different person back then." I paused, memories flooding back, each one a fresh wound. "Sarah and I... Your mum and me, we..." I trailed off, the words sticking in my throat.

  After a long, uncomfortable silence, I continued, "We weren't happy. It's really not complicated." Even to my own ears, the explanation sounded hollow, inadequate. "I had something I needed to do. When I started to work for MainFrame, she could have come with me. She was a good engin—"

  "She was GREAT, she was a genius," she cut in.

  I nodded and continued, "She was. Way better than me. But she didn't want to work for MainFrame; she didn't trust them. She felt it was the wrong path."

  "So you left."

  "It's not just that. We kept arguing. I was blinded by my need to change the world."

  She looked around, waving at the street visible through the cafe window, her face contorted with disdain. "Great fucking work, Dad," she spat, each word dripping with contempt for what I'd become, for what I represented.

  I sighed; she was right, as was Sarah.

  "I know," I admitted. "I was wrong. It took me 18 years to figure it out."

  "And during this time, you never reached out? What about when Mum died? Never cared?"

  She held nothing back. Her unrestrained demeanor reminded me of Sarah—they were more alike than I had realized. Beneath her anger, I could see the hurt child who had grown up without a father, who had constructed a shell of hostility to protect herself. Every cutting remark was rooted in genuine pain that I had caused. The guilt was overwhelming; I was the villain in her story, and rightfully so.

  "I tried, but once I joined MainFrame, your mum and I never spoke again. She didn't want me in your life, and..." I paused. "And I was fine with that."

  A heavy silence hung over our table.

  "How did you find me?" she suddenly asked.

  "I followed your life, from afar, but I did. I wanted to make sure you were okay, that both of you were."

  "And when Mum died, why didn't you contact me then?"

  "I..." I stayed silent, lacking an excuse. I didn't know what to say.

  Awkward silence enveloped our table once more, both of us looking down.

  "I reached out now," I finally said.

  "Yeah, that isn't suspect at all," she replied. "You either are dying, or you need my help with money. Just so you know, I'm not swimming in credits."

  "No," I said, shaking my head. "I do not need credits."

  "So you're dying?"

  I didn't reply.

  Leaning back in her seat, she exclaimed, "So that's it, you're dying. Well, at least, I'm guessing you'll have a nice little nest in MainFrame Heaven. Good for you."

  "I need your help," I said.

  She looked at me, staring into my eyes.

  "Help? I got no credits, and it seems you don't need them anyway. What can a low-level infosec programmer like me do for you? Need help in cybersecurity?" She laughed, full of spite.

  At nearby tables, patrons were beginning to steal glances our way. Our voices had gradually risen, and the tension between us was palpable enough to disrupt the cafe's relaxed atmosphere. A server hovered uncertainly nearby, clearly debating whether to intervene.

  I pulled the memory stick from my pocket and slid it across the table toward her.

  "I want to take MainFrame down," I said, locking eyes with her.

  Her eyes darted between me and the ancient technology. "Go fuck yourself," she retorted. "You left me, you left Mum. I never met you, and you suddenly appear with that shitty old-school memory stick, claiming you need my help taking down MainFrame, one of the Big Four? Are you out of your mind?"

  "MainFrame is doing something wrong, I know it. I just—"

  "Wow! What shocking news!" she interjected, slamming her hand down on the table hard enough to make our cups jump. Several heads turned in our direction. Noticing the attention, she leaned back slightly, making a visible effort to control her volume. "MainFrame, one of the Big Four, one of the biggest, scammiest corporations on the planet, is being the bad guys? This is not really a secret, you know."

  "It is more than just corporate greed and illegal activities. I think there is something deeper, something dark going—"

  "You think?" she cut in, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "That means you don't know."

  "I have some information, on this key. I just need help. I believe they're onto me. I need help and some time. I do not know how much longer I have—"

  With a swift motion, she stood up. "Hey, Dad," she sneered, leaning toward me. "Go. Fuck. Yourself." She raised both middle fingers directly in my face, her hands trembling slightly despite her bravado.

  I could see the shine of unshed tears in her eyes that she refused to let fall. Without a backward glance, she stormed toward the exit, flipping off the staring customers as she passed. The door slammed behind her with finality, leaving me in silence, staring at the vacant seat, fully aware that I had reopened wounds that had never properly healed.

  "Lisa," I murmured softly.

  Peering outside in the hope of catching a last glimpse of my daughter, I spotted two MainFrame security guards entering, scanning the area.

  Quickly snatching the memory stick, I stuffed it into my pocket and discreetly exited through the back door.

  Reaching the back alley, I noticed several MainFrame vehicles parked out front. I was trapped. I pulled out the memory stick, staring at it. They couldn't get their hands on this; it had taken me too long, too many risks to lose it now.

  I had to think quickly. MainFrame security would be searching the alley any moment. This was too risky; someone could easily find it in the junction box. My eyes darted around desperately until I noticed the small cover on top of the box, protecting it from the rain. It was thick enough, and less obvious than the box itself.

  Using my cybernetic fingers at maximum strength, I gently ripped and bent the metal cover to access the inside.

  I secured the memory stick inside and closed it the best I could, surveying my surroundings to ensure no one saw me. It would be safe there.

  I secured the memory stick inside the metal cover...

  I secured the memory stick inside the metal cover...

  I secured...

  "What the hell!"

  The words exploded from me as consciousness suddenly returned. I found myself sprawled on my apartment floor, staring at the ceiling, disoriented and confused. What had just happened? It wasn't simply a dream or hallucination—it felt like another involuntary plunge into Noah's memories, but this time with unprecedented clarity and detail.

  That dream—or memory—continued to gnaw at me. It seemed too detailed, too precise to be a simple fabrication of my exhausted mind. Names, faces, emotions—all rendered with unsettling clarity. Had Noah actually worked for MainFrame? I tried to dismiss it as just stress-induced imagination after everything that had happened, but some part of me knew better. I felt my grasp on reality slipping.

  Unlike previous flashes, this experience had been complete, coherent, playing out a significant episode from Noah's past. I could recall every nuance—the smell of coffee in the NeoDuck Cafe, the expression on Lisa's face when she confirmed Noah was her father, the crushing weight of guilt as she confronted him with years of abandonment. I had felt Noah's shame as acutely as if it were my own, experienced his desperate need for redemption. Even now, the panic as MainFrame security closed in lingered in my system, adrenaline still coursing through my veins. Most vividly, I remembered the junction box where Noah had hidden the memory stick, its location burned into my mind with perfect precision.

  I sat up slowly, my heart racing. Was I still myself? The boundaries of my identity felt suddenly uncertain, memories that weren't mine now lodged firmly in my consciousness.

  Through the swirl of confusion, one thought kept repeating itself, like a fragment of code caught in an endless loop:

  I secured the memory stick inside the metal cover... I secured the memory stick inside the metal cover... I secured...

  "I need to get that memory stick," I whispered, the compulsion growing stronger with each passing second.